


Vexing

by catrinamarlow



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Slash, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 20:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1996989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catrinamarlow/pseuds/catrinamarlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are similar fics to mine out there. Hopefully there’s room for one more? Set some time after Skyfall. Remember that Mycroft comment from ‘His Last Vow’? There may be medical inaccuracy in this fic. </p>
<p>Warnings/tags: Bond owies. Major Q owies. Caring!Bond.Caring!Mycroft.</p>
<p>My first posting on this site (fingers crossed!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vexing

Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy! 

Category: Sherlock (BBC TV version) / Skyfall crossover slash hurt/comfort AU fic with moments from previous Bond films. I’ve ignored the final scene from Skyfall as it didn’t fit with my fic.

Rating: R/NC-18 to be safe for topics and content

Characters: Ensemble plus OFCs/OMCs

Series: No

Spoilers: Skyfall specifically but anything from any Bond film or the Sherlock seasons might pop up. 

Summary: Sometimes the things that happen to ordinary people happen to Bond. And Q.

Archive: Just tell me where it's going 

Additional 'stuff': There are similar fics to mine out there. Hopefully there’s room for one more? Set some time after Skyfall. Remember that Mycroft comment from ‘His Last Vow’? There may be medical inaccuracy in this fic. 

Warnings/tags: Bond owies. Major Q owies. Caring!Bond.Caring!Mycroft.

Title: Vexing

Two decades earlier…

Mycroft stood in the doorway, looking into the room at his younger brother, ghost-pale, skin sheened with sweat, medical staff crowded around him as they worked frantically on the latest overdose to be wheeled into A&E that weekend. 

He fielded questions from his parents – abroad on one of their regular US trips – and reassured them that, yes, Sherlock was in hospital but, no, they didn’t need to fly home three days early. Then Mycroft spent the day sitting beside Sherlock’s bed, waiting for him to wake up.

Threatening Sherlock with rehab worked – at least for a while – as a deterrent to a repetition of the sickening call he had had to take telling him his brother had been taken to the local hospital after being found in a squat with a needle still stuck in his arm.

A decade earlier…

The cell door opened and Mycroft looked into the small space almost not seeing his youngest brother crouched in the corner, the grey blanket wrapped around his trembling shoulders.

He walked in and tried to ignore the chill and the smell as he crossed to his brother. “Hugo…let’s go home.”

Hugo didn’t move or look up and Mycroft only just heard his whispered: “Please don’t tell Mummy.”

Sighing, Mycroft stood in the doorway and waited for the teenage boy to get to his feet, folding the blanket neatly before following his older brother out of the police station. 

Hugo had no need to know that two words had got him out of what could have been a long prison sentence for hacking into Government computer systems: ’National Security’. He also didn’t need to know that the other men - all of whom were at least a decade older than their most competent hacker - who had been arrested with Hugo, would not escape so lightly. Or that Mycroft did not, in fact, tell anyone what Hugo – and he – had done.

Present day…

Mallory liked Mycroft. Well, perhaps ‘liked’ was putting it a bit strongly, but he found the man useful on occasion. Co-incidentally, when Mallory and Mycroft were chatting in his office, he heard Bond’s voice in the outer office.

Leaning across his desk he pressed the intercom. “Moneypenny, please ask 007 to join us.”

He waited impatiently for the agent to finish the ritual flirtation with his assistant, looking up as the door, finally, opened.

“Ah, 007. Let me introduce you…James Bond, Mycroft Holmes.”

The two men’s instant mutual dislike and distrust didn’t go un-noticed by Mallory, but he decided to ignore the sudden tension in the room.

***************

James couldn’t recall a time when he was so glad to leave a meeting. He had been in meetings where Mallory had yelled at senior civil servants from the Ministry of Defence, belittled ideas from senior military and security service personnel and, on one memorable occasion, reduced a member of the cabinet to tears. The man had resigned his post only hours after the meeting and James had felt a rare pang of sympathy when he’d read the man’s resignation letter.

Walking out of the room he childishly slammed the door, startling the two men remaining on the other side of it.

After that day…

Dull.

Tedious.

Boring.

Vexing.

The first three were words regularly heard in texts, e-mails and calls between the brothers. The fourth was his own preferred replacement for a more colorful expression he sometimes required.

For example, when Bond failed…again…to return equipment issued to him by Q-branch. Or when innocent civilians got caught up, as they almost inevitably did, with Six’s operations. Or when…

“Q.”

Q tried, and he knew, failed, not to jump like a startled rabbit when the shadow appeared across his desk. “Double-0-seven, welcome back.”

James smiled slightly, aware of the Quartermaster’s reaction to his arrival at his desk. He reached into his jacket and laid a small brown paper bag on Q’s expectantly upturned palm.

Q stared at the bag and, after a moment of still silence, looked up at the agent, eyebrows raised.

“Well, I didn’t want to come back entirely empty handed.”

Q sighed. “The weapon you were issued with?”

“In the Seine.”

“Your radio?”

“Fell from the Eiffel Tower.”

“Your phone?”

“Eaten by a guard dog.”

Q sighed and opened the bag, examining the contents with a sinking feeling. “Tea bags.”

James smiled smugly. “They were on the hotel tea tray.”

Q looked at the logo on the tags attached to the tea bags. “You weren’t booked into that hotel.”

James’s smile got broader. “Not as a guest, no.”

“Do I want to know?”

James chuckled softly. “Probably not.”

****************

Q’s phone beeped. A text message. The eleventh…or was it twelfth…since his eleven o’clock cup of tea was brought to his desk by one the newest members of the Q branch team. Sucking up. Not that Q minded. Unless he had a meeting or needed a bathroom break, he rarely left his desk all day. 

He ignored the message as he had all but the first. Which he hadn’t replied to. But as the phone beeped once more he gave in to temptation, lifting the handset from the desk, preparing to launch it at the wall. 

As he moved his hand back, he let out a shocked gasp of surprise as his wrist was gripped tightly. 

“That’s not setting a good example of taking care of equipment, now is it Q?”

Q sighed. “It’s mine.”

James smiled and took the phone from Q, scrolling through the dozen messages. The final one, where he could imagine the look on the face of the person typing it, made him smile. ‘Hugo you will come home this weekend for Sunday lunch. One o’clock. Mummy is worried about you. One.’

“Hugo?”

“Did you think my name was actually Q?” 

“One?” 

“Mycroft. My brother. He used to be ‘M’ but now I work here and…well, there’s an ‘M’ so we changed it…”

“Big brother or little brother?”

Hugo laughed softly. “Very much Big Brother.”

James let that one go. Mostly because the name bothered him. He had heard it before and he tried to recall where. “Mycroft…” He muttered softly. 

“Apart from saving my phone from being destroyed, did you actually want something, 007?”

“Hugo?” James deflected easily.

“Richard Hugo Tyrrell Holmes.”

“Mycroft Holmes.” James said with a satisfied sigh. “Your brother is Mycroft Holmes.”

Hugo nodded and took his phone back from James. They were both startled when the phone rang. Hugo looked down at the caller ID and rolled his eyes. Answering it, turning a little away from the agent beside him as he did so, he listened for a moment then said: “Mycroft already invited me Sherlock.”

James lifted himself onto the edge of Hugo’s desk, making no attempt to appear as if he wasn’t listening to the one-sided conversation.

“…yes…no…what are you implying?...no, I won’t be bringing…tell Mycroft to stay out of…they’re just tea bags…”

James frowned, wondering how the hell anyone knew what he’d given the Quartermaster only a few minutes earlier. Perhaps, he mused, the stories about Mycroft Holmes, which he had dismissed as fantasy, were, just possibly, true.

Hugo ended the call with a scowl at the handset and James took it from him a second time. “I suppose I could always insist you come into work on Sunday.”

“Why?” Hugo felt a spark of hope.

“Because I’ve met Mycroft Holmes and I know I wouldn’t want to spend my Sunday with him.”

Hugo smiled a little but he felt he had to defend his brother, just a little. “He’s not that bad.”

James countered: “Tea bags.” 

Hugo shrugged. “I really should go. Mummy’s right. I haven’t been home in ages.”

James frowned. He hadn’t expected Hugo to be so easily swayed. “Well, perhaps you’re right.”

Hugo sighed. “He’ll send a car, I’ll have to go anyway…I may as well just give in now.”

Lightly, James threw out: “I could come with you.”

****************

Two days after that day...

James blinked through a pink veil over his left eye and the sting of sweat dripping from his forehead into his right eye.

Limping slightly, cradling his left arm, he looked around, slowly getting his bearings and headed north, keeping off the main streets, still busy with late-night diners and tourists, restaurant and theatre staff.

He managed, eventually, to open the front door of the block of flats he stood in front of and made his way up the staircase to the top floor. Breathing heavily, he reached into his pocket to pull out a lock-picking kit. A sudden wave of nausea hit and he slumped against the wooden door, banging into it with a loud thud.

Seconds later he heard: “The police are on their way.”

James sighed and called: “Cancel the cavalry and open the bloody door Q, it’s Bond.”

There was a scraping, the sounds of a chain and several locks being released. The door opened a fraction and James forced a tired smile. “Hey.”

Hugo sighed and opened the door fully. 

Despite his various injuries, James couldn’t help his smile. 

“Einstein?”

Hugo frowned then looked down at the theorem printed repeatedly over the navy cotton pyjamas he wore. 

Standing aside, letting the agent into his flat, Hugo’s voice was relieved. “At least you don’t have a serious head injury 007.” Leaving the agent in the hallway, he reached for the phone. “3104…false alarm…apologies for the inconvenience…yes…goodnight.” 

He walked to the kitchen, crouched down, retrieved the first aid kit from under the sink and walked back into the hallway. He wasn’t surprised 007 was no longer there but was lounging, breathing harshly, on the sofa.

“Did someone let you in downstairs?”

James frowned. “No. Sorry about that.”

Hugo sat on the coffee table, slipped on a pair of latex gloves and began to lay out a plastic bowl, plastic packets of antiseptic and sutures.

James sat up a little. “Thanks, I can manage.”

“Shut up and sit still 007.” Hugo said tetchily.

“I didn’t plan this.”

“Angry husband?” 

James decided not to be offended by the question. “High as a kite knife-wielding teenagers.”

Hugo chuckled. “The famous James Bond, 007, mugged by Fagin’s gang.”

James patted his pockets and groaned. “My wallet, phone…ohhh.”

Raising an eyebrow, Hugo reached for the phone a second time. “3104…go secure…I need a team in...?”

“Old Compton Street.” James supplied.

“Old Compton Street and surrounding streets…007’s wallet and phone. Locate and retrieve. Keep me updated.”

James watched warily as the pyjama-clad Quartermaster tore open two sachets of antiseptic, emptying them into the plastic bowl. Hugo dunked a wad of cotton wool into the dark liquid, lifted it out, squeezed it a little then took hold of James’s chin. “This might sting a bit.”

James hissed as the antiseptic did just that.

He was left with three stitches, a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and a large, rapidly-darkening patch of skin around his left eye. He recognized the discomfort of broken ribs and the grazes on the back of his right hand were no more than an irritation when measured against the other injuries he’d sustained an hour earlier.

As he cleared up the pile of bloody swabs, Hugo’s phone rang. He listened, smiled a little, then ended the call with a: “Well, there is a silver lining in every cloud. Thank you.”

He put the phone on the table and turned back to the agent on his sofa. “Your phone and wallet have been found. Apparently, retrieving your things, the police apprehended a pickpocket gang they’ve been targeting. I’m afraid all your cards have been cancelled and your phone’s SIM card and memory will be wiped. I’ll have new ones for you in the morning.”

James smiled, relieved. He’d lost personal items before and had been subjected to a humiliating lecture from M which had lasted just long enough to be an experience he had no wish to repeat. “Thank you…Hugo.”

Hugo scowled and smacked James none-too-gently on the back of his head with his phone. “Do *not* under *any* circumstances, address me as ‘Hugo’ when we’re in the office, 007, or for your next assignment you’ll be issued with a pencil and a prepaid international phone card.”

“Yes Q.” James said, a smile playing around his lips.

“You’ll have difficulty getting a cab this late. I’ll call a car for you.”

James stood up, wavered and sat back down, breathing hard. “Just give me a minute.”

Sighing, Hugo went into his room and returned a couple of minutes later with a blanket, pillow and an oversized t-shirt with a print of the periodic table on the front. He laid them on the sofa then went into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of water and a box of over-the-counter painkillers.

“I get up early.”

James couldn’t resist: “Yes, that hair must need a lot of work to get it looking so…unstructured.”

“At least mine isn’t going grey.” Hugo countered teasingly.

“Isn’t it past your bed-time? Mummy will be cross.” James snarked.

Sighing, shaking his head Hugo turned to leave the room. “I hope you don’t snore.”

*********************

James woke slowly, groaned and tried to sit up, deciding half-way to postpone the attempt until later.

Holding a steaming mug of Earl Grey, Hugo looked over at the disheveled agent from the archway separating the kitchen from the living room. “Morning.”

“Morning..ahh!.” James said, stifling a yawn and a groan of pain. 

“Take the pills Bond…I won’t tell anyone.”

Scowling, James pressed two of the red and white capsules out of the foil pack and swallowed them with a gulp of water that had warmed to room temperature overnight. Grimacing he looked more carefully at the items on the table. “My new phone and wallet.”

Hugo nodded. “Delivered about an hour ago.”

“So M knows I was here?”

“Just Tanner.” Hugo said reassuringly. “And he won’t gossip.”

“How can you be sure?” James asked with a trace of anxiety. 

“Because I know what’s on his iPod.” Hugo said smugly.

James got to his feet, swaying a little. “Right…I’ll see you later then?”

Hugo nodded and sipped his tea.

As he reached the door, James paused and turned back. “Thank you.”

Hugo smiled and didn’t have time to reply before the door closed.

***************

Tanner wasn’t just M’s personal assistant-slash-bodyguard. He was also his eyes and ears, walking around mostly un-noticed, ignored or, at best, inciting a nod of polite acknowledgement and the occasional ‘Morning’ or ‘Hey’. So he noticed what only Moneypenny and, he assumed, Bond noticed. That Q was very possessive of the particular double-0 that was 007.

Q alone outfitted Bond, preparing and supplying the agent with all his documentation and weaponry each time the man left on a mission. And he stayed after the entire day team had been replaced by the skeleton Q branch night staff. They didn’t know him that well and left him, mostly, alone to his one-sided conversations with the earpiece that was – usually - tucked in Bond’s ear.

He even made his way down to the basement gym in the new building, standing or leaning in the doorway, depending on what time of day it was and how tired he was, gently teasing Bond if he failed to make an even number of pull-ups, chin-ups or push-ups. Sometimes, if the mission had been difficult it was as few as six, otherwise it was usually twelve repetitions before he handed Bond a bottle of water and a towel. 

Tanner also noticed something else. That the top drawer in Q’s desk was becoming filled with handfuls of teabags. All different brands, some shop-bought, others hotel or foreign makes but all Earl Grey. And all untouched. 

*****************************

Sunday, mid-morning…

James drove, following Hugo’s directions out of central London and, eventually, he saw road signs for the small village where the man who had become the MI6 Quartermaster had grown up.

Pulling up, he turned off the engine and tried to ignore his reflection in the rear-view mirror. His stitches were, at Hugo’s insistence, covered with a small white dressing but his eye and cheek were still mottled with slowly-healing bruising. 

Mrs Holmes prided herself in no longer being surprised when one of her boys turned up with a ‘friend’. She had some time ago resigned herself to the unlikelihood of grandchildren but even she raised an eyebrow when Hugo – she had also given up calling her youngest son Richard as he simply stopped responding to it on his twelfth birthday – arrived for Sunday lunch in a silver convertible driven by a seemingly very badly injured much older man. 

As she stood in the doorway, waiting for Hugo and his companion to make their way up the driveway, she felt her husband’s grip on her shoulder relax for a moment only to morph into a comforting, if brief, squeeze of support. “Darling!” She hugged her youngest son firmly and stood back, looking the other man up and down appraisingly. 

“Mummy, this is James Bond. He…well, works in my office.”

Mrs Holmes resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes. She knew exactly what her son did for a living despite his care never to let slip any details of his work or office location. Having Mycroft as her eldest had its uses on occasion.

“Hello dear, please, come in. Mycroft and Sherlock are already here.”

“Greg and John?” Hugo queried.

“It was just supposed to be family today darling.” Mrs Holmes said quietly.

“Mummy, I told you, James has a car he wants to sell and you know Mister Ellis in the village buys…”

Mrs Holmes ignored the explanation, headed into the kitchen and re-emerged in the living room to hand Hugo a cup of tea. “Mr Bond? What can I get you to drink?”

“James, please…um…coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. I won’t stay long. I want to see Mister Ellis and he said he would be leaving at two.”

Mrs Holmes forced a smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.

******************

Ellis Motors – later that day…

“Hello?”

A man in blue overalls, wiping his oil-coated hands on a ragged cloth, appeared in response to James’ shout. “Mister Bond?”

“Yes. That’s a nice one.” He indicated a Lotus Esprit.

Ellis nodded, looking over the vehicle. “I thought you said on the phone you had a car to sell. Are you also in the market for…”

James took out his phone and showed Ellis several shots of the DB9. 

“Nice…very nice…what sort of figure did you have in mind?”

“Ah, well, unfortunately, it’s not exactly in pristine condition any longer.”

Indicating James’ face, Ellis asked sympathetically: “Ah…had a bit of a prang did we?”

“Well, it got blown up, then caught fire and that triggered the passenger ejector seat which took off part of the roof.”

Ellis wondered if either the man in front of him had a learning difficulty or was simply taking the piss. Either way, he wanted to get rid of him and get off home for his lunch.

James put his phone away. “Tell me about Hugo Holmes.” 

Ellis smiled. “You don’t actually have a car to sell, do you Mr Bond?”

“Not unless you want it for spare parts, no.” James admitted.

“Tea?”

“Thanks.” James followed the man into the small back room and waited while the kettle boiled. 

“He was one I liked most. Pity he came last.” Ellis said, remembering.

James sat on a folding metal chair and listened. 

“The eldest, Mycroft…he was never really interested in cars. His father bought him round once or twice but he didn’t like getting his hands dirty and he just sat and drank tea and ate biscuits until his father picked him up.”

James smiled and nodded.

“The middle one…well, he liked to see how things worked but he always wanted to melt them or set them on fire.”

James sipped his tea and listened quietly without interrupting.

“Hugo…well, he was as different to the others as it was possible to be. He wanted to take things apart, re-build them but make them faster or more efficient or just…different. I would give him a clock or a gearbox or something and he’d sit all day. Mrs Holmes had to phone him to remind him to eat lunch.”

James smiled and chuckled softly. 

“So…anything else you want to know about the boys?” Ellis said teasingly.

James was just relieved the man didn’t seem too cross about his lie.

They walked back out to the car park at the front of the garage and Ellis looked across at the convertible. “Now, that’d I’d buy.”

“Not mine, I’m afraid.”

“Pity.” Ellis said, running his hand over the driver’s side door. He opened it and James climbed in. “Oh, one last thing Mr Bond.” He pulled a small well-worn cardboard box from his pocket. “Give this to Hugo for me.”

“What is it?” 

“Something to keep him occupied on your journey home.”

***********************

Facing a seemingly endless torrent of interrogative questions from his parents – was he eating properly, not working too hard, taking care of himself, Hugo excused himself and headed for the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bath, he texted: ‘Please don’t be much longer.”

James took his phone out of his pocket and sounded the horn as he pulled up outside the house. 

Leaving Sherlock who had been smoking beside him, Mycroft heard the car horn and walked down the path, stopping beside the driver’s side door. Leaning down, he tapped on the glass, waiting impatiently for the window to slide down. “Mr Bond. I’m aware of your reputation. This…friendship…with my brother…I hope you understand that if you allow any harm to come to Hugo, I will make your mugging seem like a pleasant memory.”

Trying not to show his surprise at the man’s knowledge of his recent past, James managed a brief smile before Hugo climbed into the car.

********************

Despite only having one hand on the wheel and half his attention on the road ahead, the convertible took the corner smoothly. Reaching into his pocket, James handed over the small orange cardboard box. “From Ellis…at the garage.”

Hugo opened the box and lifted out the black gyroscopic compass. “Wow...”

Smiling at Hugo’s excitement, James didn’t have time to react to the line of ponies ahead of him as they rounded the bend. Faced with the only two possible alternatives, he chose not to keep going and end up under the rear hooves of a brown and white pony. Instead, he swerved, not seeing the dinner plate sized water-filled pothole on the other side of the road. Aquaplaning through the water he didn’t have time to warn his passenger before the car skidded off the road and into the ditch at the side of the road.

Hugo didn’t even have time to scream as the car somersaulted and, moments later, everything went black.

The woman leading the line of ponies dialed 999 and then sent the ponies off under the leadership of the oldest teenage rider. Hurrying back to the ditch, she clambered down and called out: “I’ve called an ambulance…can you get out?”

James opened his eyes and groaned. Moving slowly, he managed to unhook his seatbelt and push the car door open. Climbing out, he realized something was wrong with his left arm. Broken probably, he guessed. Cradling it he moved slowly round to the other side of the car. “Q…go..hey…can you hear me?”

As he climbed awkwardly over to the passenger side of the car it was immediately obvious Hugo hadn’t been so lucky. Blood trickled from a deep wound in his forehead and he was completely silent and still.

James struggled to open the door and swore softly as Hugo roused a little and began to move. As he struggled, he screamed and, as he looked down James realized Hugo’s legs were trapped by the crumpled and flattened bonnet.

“Don’t move! Stay still!” James shouted, moving to sit back in the driver’s seat.

“Get me out!!” Hugo yelled, struggling hard.

“Your legs are trapped. Just keep still… ambulance is coming.” James tried to reassure Hugo, reaching across to pat his shoulder.

“I can’t…it hurts too much!” Hugo screamed again.

James pushed away thoughts of what Hugo’s brothers were going to do to him and tried to keep Hugo calm. He didn’t remember much of his regular obligatory first aid training but he had been injured enough times to know Hugo’s legs were badly damaged and must hurt like hell. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he scooted as close to Hugo as the confined space would allow and reached his uninjured arm around Hugo’s shoulders, holding him close. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hugo sobbed between cries of pain and sagged more and more heavily against James’ shoulder. 

“Hey! Hugo! Stay awake…just a bit longer…hang on!” James demanded loudly but there was no response and, thankfully, James was saved from shouting any more as the ambulance arrived. 

*************************

James refused to get his own injuries seen to until he was certain Hugo was in surgery for what he had been told was probably irreparable damage to his legs.

As he felt the effect of the anesthetic begin to relieve his pain, James wondered if one of Hugo’s brothers would see to it that he never woke from his own surgery.

***********************

Hours later…

James tried to push down the feeling of panic when the door at the end of the room opened and Mycroft entered, framed for a moment in the doorway before he walked in, umbrella swinging.

“Bond.” Mycroft said dismissively as he walked across the room to his brother’s bedside.

Quickly James said: “Mycroft…he’s sleeping.”

“You mean he’s unconscious.” Mycroft corrected.

“Um…no…he was but he woke up for about ten seconds an hour ago so I think technically he’s now sleeping.”

Mycroft scowled and reached down to stroke his brother’s cheek lightly. “It’s all right Hugo…I’m here now. Just rest..” He turned and regarded Bond. “It’s just your collarbone, isn’t it? You’ll be discharged in a day or so.”

There was a little movement from Hugo’s bed and Mycroft’s attention was immediately switched to his brother. “Shh…gently…try not to move.”

Hugo whimpered as consciousness and pain returned. “James…”

Mycroft’s body language kept James standing a few feet away. “He’s fine Hugo.”

Hugo’s mouth twitched into a slight smile. Mr Ellis…gave…ahhhh!!” 

His voice tailed off into a shout of pain and Mycroft squeezed his little brother’s shoulder gently. “Don’t worry about anything now…Mummy and Daddy will be visiting you later today. You’ll want to be nice and rested for them, won’t you, hmm?

“Hurts, My…” Hugo whispered through clenched teeth.

“Both your legs are broken darling. It will hurt for quite a while.”

“Morphine.” Hugo whispered desperately.

“You’re on the highest dose your doctor deems safe. You suffered a nasty concussion and he…”

“Please.” Hugo shuddered and couldn’t even summon the energy to wipe away the tears that filled his eyes.

“I’ll go and speak to your doctor.”

Hugo’s eyes closed, the effort of pleading with his brother had exhausted him and the pain was horrendous. It was easier just to shut everything out.

Switching his attention from his injured sibling to the man in the next bed, Mycroft asked: “Do you remember the conversation we had, Bond?”

James nodded and tried to sit up a little. “Um…Mycroft…it was an accident…there was nothing I could do.” He was more than a little nervous Mycroft would just smother him with a pillow and there would be little he could do to defend himself.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and locked eyes with the agent. “I read the police report. Against my advice, our parents will be visiting later today. I have no doubt that you will find something to occupy yourself away from this room while they are here.”

James wondered when Mycroft learned the art of making a suggestion into an instruction, then realized he didn’t want to think on it any further. Hugo had said he knew what Tanner kept on his i-pod. Now he knew that Mycroft Holmes cared. He kept the smile off his face until the door closed behind the eldest Holmes brother.

********************

Hugo recovered slowly. His shattered legs were each held together with a halo of cumbersome and uncomfortable external fixators. He alternated between frustration at being unable to walk and irritation at not being able to convince the clinic’s doctors that he was fit enough to be released.

After a couple of visits from his parents both ending in raging tantrums when they wouldn’t agree to let him come home with them, only Mycroft and, once, Sherlock, visited him. Four days into his stay at the private clinic Mycroft had had his brother moved to, Hugo was more than a little surprised when he heard 007’s voice outside his room. 

James opened the door slowly and knocked as he did so. “Are you decent Q…go?”

Hugo smiled and tried to ease himself a little more upright in the bed, nodding at James’ sling. “007. How’s the arm?”

James walked across the room carrying a white plastic bag. He reached into it and dropped a plastic bag of red grapes onto the bedside locker. “Getting there.”

“Grapes…how…unoriginal.” Hugo said with a teasing smile. He saw that there were other items still in the bag and waited while James pulled the overbed table nearer them. 

James reached into the bag again and pulled out a box of Earl Grey teabags and Q’s Scrabble mug. 

Hugo reached for the mug, gasping at the discomfort in his legs as he moved. 

“Careful.” James said anxiously.

“Not you as well!” Hugo snapped.

“What?” James frowned.

“Everyone’s so bloody worried about me all the bloody time! It’s like they think I’m going to break into bits if I scratch my bloody nose!”

James ignored the tantrum, and the uncharacteristic cursing from the Quartermaster, instead heading into the bathroom, filling the kettle and returning, plugging it in and busying himself opening the box of teabags, placing one in the mug. “Milk?” 

Hugo calmed enough to point to the cupboard under where the kettle sat, steaming as it boiled. 

James made the tea and carried it over to the bed, sitting on the edge as he handed the mug over. 

“Thank you.” Hugo managed, sipping the steaming liquid slowly, leaning back, relaxing as the tea made its way to his stomach, warming his insides.

“The doctor I spoke to said you can probably leave here at the end of the week.”

Hugo sighed. “If I move back to my parents and let my mother fuss over me like I was five years old again.”

James looked thoughtful for a second or two then nodded at Hugo’s mug. “Don’t let your tea get cold.”

Hugo hadn’t missed the look that had crossed James’s face but he found the combination of the tea and James’ visit had left him suddenly very tired and he yawned, embarrassed as James looked at him with concern.

Hugo scowled and placed his half-empty mug on the table over his legs, a silent but very clear message that he wasn’t happy which James didn’t miss.Taking his phone out of his pocket, James handed it to him. “Dial your brother.”

“Which one?”

“The one who threatened to kill me if anything happened to you.”

“Not helping.” Hugo smiled a little.

“Mycroft.” James said with a similar smile.

Hugo dialed then handed the phone back to James. “It’s ringing.”

When Mycroft answered, expecting Hugo, James said quickly: “It’s James…hang on a second.” He put the phone on the table and switched it to speaker. 

“Bond…what do you want?”

“Hugo’s going to be discharged in a few days…”

Mycroft’s irritation at being told something he already knew came across through the phone. “Yes, and he’ll be staying with Mummy until…”

“My…with a wheelchair I can go back to work and I thought I would ask Sherlock to help out with things I can’t manage.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Hugo…it’s far too dangerous. One knock and you risk…”

“We’ve discussed Q…go’s options Mycroft, and my flat’s open plan, plenty of room for a wheelchair. He can stay with me and I’ll bring him into work. M will let me have a van…”

“Absolutely not!” Mycroft’s angry reaction echoed around the room. “I don’t know why you decided to torture my brother with your ridiculous idea Bond, but it’s simply impossible…and as for the idea that I would ever let you drive my brother anywhere after what happened, well…”

This time James interrupted. “Mycroft, it’s not your decision.”

Hugo swallowed hard and waited for Mycroft to start shouting again. There were several seconds of silence then: “I have a meeting at the Home Office which should be finished by three o’clock. I’ll see you no later than…five-thirty Hugo. We’ll discuss the arrangements for your…rehabilitation…then.”

The line went dead and Hugo stared at the phone, trying, and failing, to stop shaking.

“That went well.” James smiled. He frowned when he realized Hugo’s expression was just the opposite of amused.

**************************

James left Hugo alone just after five and went down to the canteen. He bought a sandwich and a coffee and sat where he could see everyone entering and leaving the hospital front entrance. 

If Mycroft saw James, he didn’t acknowledge him and headed straight for the lift.

*************************

Some time later…

Mycroft eased himself into the seat opposite James. His usually expression – James thought it a combination of smugness and the confidence which came from having too much money and far too much power – was slightly less calm and he took a couple of deep breaths before: “My brother’s…stubbornness over the arrangements for his discharge are, I suppose, as much your fault as his. However, with certain safeguards, I am prepared to allow Hugo to stay, temporarily, in your flat and return, very much part-time, to work.”

“Safeguards?”

“They don’t concern you. Needless to say, if Sherlock tells me Hugo’s being over-taxed or putting his recovery at risk, I shall intervene and Hugo *will* cease work and move in with our parents.”

“Tanner will look after him while he’s at work and…”

Mycroft’s voice dropped to a level which was for Bond’s ears only. “My brother is very trusting Bond. He appears to trust you, even after your actions almost killed him…”

James decided not to contradict Mycroft’s version of what had happened.

“…and you will not betray that trust. Please be quite clear on that point, because I want you to be in no doubt what will happen to you if this…plan…the two of you hatched fails to keep my brother safe a second time.”

Bond got to his feet. “Finished?”

Mycroft stood too, hooking his umbrella over his arm. “I’ll have Hugo’s things moved into your flat. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Bond smiled. “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Mycroft’s expression didn’t change and he left without another word.

**********************

James’s new flat was very different from his previous place. A single space, open plan with a couple of bedrooms at one end, bathroom in the middle and living room and kitchen at the other end. He wasn’t that keen on the place, but, given the needs of Hugo’s wheelchair, it was perfect. 

When he got home that evening, Hugo’s things were already moved in. James didn’t want to know how whoever had brought piles of Hugo’s stuff over had got into a flat which had state-of-the-art security. Then he remembered Hugo, and a team working under his instruction, had actually installed most of the kit.

**********************

With most of the metal removed from his legs, Hugo’s doctor and the physiotherapist and Hugo’s family expected him to begin walking. Three days after the procedure he was still refusing. 

James visited daily, bringing breakfast, newspapers, books and other items on a varying basis. When he looked into Hugo’s room and saw the wheelchair still beside the bed, he reversed his direction. “Excuse me.”

The nurse smiled politely. “Yes Sir?”

“Has Hu…Mr Holmes,,,walked…at all?”

“No Sir…not yet. He will though. In his own time.”

“Thank you.” If James had any idea of the effect his smile had on the young woman, he didn’t appear to notice, heading into Hugo’s room.

“Morning. Your doctor says now you don’t need…this thing…” James pushed the wheelchair away from the bed and didn’t miss the fearful expression on Hugo’s face. “…and M says you can come back to work anytime you think you’re ready.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t…what?”

“Walk.”

James ignored him. “Your doctor says you healed remarkably quickly and you’re fine to start walking.” As he spoke, he was pulling the bedclothes off Hugo’s legs. 

“He’s wrong. I’m nowhere near ready.”

“I thought your degree was computer science. I didn’t realize it was medicine.”

“I’m tired.”

“You just woke up.”

Hugo’s expression was depressingly familiar to James. Fear. 

“Stand. Up.” 

The tone, the one that made men, and a few women, confess to crimes and caused women, and a few men, to undress, infused the words that came out of James’ mouth almost without his making conscious effort.

“It will hurt.”

“Yes.” James nodded.

“I won’t even make it to the door.”

“Probably.” Again, James had to agree.

“I’ll fall.”

“No!” James finally disagreed sharply, startling Hugo. He shook his head and stood beside the bed. “I’ll catch you.”

Hugo played his final card. “Your shoulder.”

“Up. Now. Unless you want me to tell Mycroft and your mother that you’re behaving like a child who won’t ride his bike without stabilisers.”

“I ride a motorcycle.”

“It’s a moped.” James corrected. “Now get up.”

Slowly, moving his legs as little as possible, Hugo swung his torso round so he was facing James.

“I’m scared.”

James nodded and put his hand on Hugo’s tee-shirt covered chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. “I know. Hurry up.”

Hugo smiled a little and tipped himself forward until he felt the carpet under his bare feet. He gasped at the pain and James wondered if he was doing the right thing. If Hugo suffered a setback, he was certain the two older Holmes brothers would blame him entirely. 

Standing proved to be, just bearably, uncomfortable. Walking was much more painful and Hugo made it three steps before James became worried his teeth would fall out if Hugo’s body shook any more.

“Back to bed. Well done.”

As he sat on the bed a sob escaped Hugo’s throat. 

James tipped his chin and forced Hugo to meet his eyes. “It gets easier. Tomorrow you’ll make it to the window.”

Hugo judged the distance to be at least four times as far as he’d made it today and James saw the doubt in his eyes. “Maybe the day after tomorrow?”

James shook his head, his expression certainty mixed with relief. “Tomorrow. There’s something you’ll want to see.”

Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

“Tomorrow James said with a grin. “Sherlock texted me. He and John will be visiting you this afternoon. You might want to get rid of that…” He waved a hand at the wheelchair. “…before they get here.”

Hugo finished lifting himself back into bed and reached for the covers.

“Sherlock was shot. A few months ago.”

James waited while the mind he was becoming used to steered itself to Hugo’s point. 

“He said it didn’t hurt. Just for a moment.”

“Yes.” James nodded.

“My legs didn’t hurt. Not at first.”

“No.” James wasn’t sure how much of a contribution he was expected to make to the conversation which was evidently more of a monologue and played it carefully.

“What if they don’t stop hurting.”

There it was. Chronic pain. At least the fear of it. And a rhetorical question but James replied anyway. “They will, give it time.”

“I don’t even like paper cuts.”

James tried not to smile. “I know.”

Hugo blushed softly. “Thank you.”

James smiled and ruffled Hugo’s dark hair teasingly. “Be good. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Hugo tried to wriggle free of James’ touch but his legs felt like they were on fire and he sucked in a sharp breath.

James paused just long enough to make sure Hugo was actually okay before leaving.

*************************** 

The next morning…

James kept his good arm outstretched. Hugo was leaning on crutches, swaying alarmingly now and then, but he was, at least, standing at the window, looking out. If he did fall backwards, James wondered if he would, in fact, be able to catch the Quartermaster.

“I can’t see anything but cars.”

“Hardly unexpected Hugo. It’s a car park after all.” James said sarcastically. He resisted the urge to look at his watch. He really didn’t think Hugo could stand up much longer. 

**************

Tanner had agreed, almost without thinking about it, to help with Bond’s plan. Stuck in traffic and unwilling to use his phone in case the traffic started moving, he knew he was late. And that Bond was, almost certainly going to yell at him when he arrived at the hospital in the saloon car he had agreed to deliver.

“Finally.” James heaved a silent sigh of relief as the car pulled into the car park and stopped, facing Hugo’s room, flashing his lights. 

Hugo stared at the light sequence which repeated itself. “O…O…sev…” Realizing what the rest of the sequence was, he laughed. “Well, it’s definitely for you.”

“Actually, Hugo, it’s for you. Get dressed. I’ll come back and help you pack up your things.” He helped Hugo across the room and when he was sitting on the bed, James walked to the door. “Don’t take all day. It’s a long drive back to London and I want to get there in daylight.”

Hugo smiled at James’ retreating back. He knew James was lying, and he thought he knew the reason for his anxiety. His smile faded when he realized changing from his pyjamas into the t-shirt and jeans which were laying over the over-bed table was going to hurt. A lot. 

Swapping the pyjama top for the black t-shirt was easy enough. Although his legs had taken the most damage, his ribs and arms were also healing from the accident and he was ridiculously pleased at managing to change without assistance from the nurses. But he couldn’t lift himself up long enough to get his pyjama bottoms off, His legs screamed their displeasure as soon as he stretched and he was left gasping for breath, his clothing around his knees, before reaching for the call button. 

“It’s okay, I’m back.”

He was startled at the voice from the doorway.

“James…I…um…I can’t…”

James crossed the room, crouched down and tugged Hugo’s pyjamas off slowly. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Oh, please, just get it over with. I think I’m going to be sick.” Hugo moaned softly, clearly in considerable discomfort.

Holding each ankle in turn, James worked carefully but quickly, reaching for the jeans and working them up Hugo’s slim, pale, scarred legs. 

“Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth…nearly there…lift up…okay…done.”

Hugo hadn’t been exaggerating about his low pain threshold. He really couldn’t deal with even the slightest injury. The day he’d been distracted by Eve’s cornflower blue figure-hugging dress and had left his hand in M’s door when she had walked into the room, closing the door behind her and on his fingers, M had grabbed his gun from his desk drawer, certain they were being attacked, as Q’s screams echoed around the room.

************************

Late evening…007’s flat

Hugo stood outside James’ bedroom, his knees trembling. It had been a long day and he was exhausted but when he had decided it was time for bed, walking past James’ room he had, out of curiosity more than any other impulse, knocked on the door.

“You don’t have to knock Hugo.” James smiled, taking the edge off his words as Hugo walked in, blushing at the comment. “Did you take your pills?”

Hugo rolled his eyes.

James put down his newspaper. “I know how many are in the bottle.”

“You count my pills?” Hugo asked, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed.

“How else can I answer the barrage of questions from your brothers?”

“Sherlock’s checking on me?”

“I think it’s mostly John, but Mycroft called me twice today. I did block his number but somehow it didn’t work.”

Hugo smiled. He could have told James his efforts to prevent incoming calls from Mycroft would be wasted, but he decided to let him find out for himself just how difficult it was to avoid his eldest brother’s attention.

James looked up, closing the newspaper he had been reading. 

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Hugo frowned, not understanding.

“Yes, you can sleep here tonight.”

Without another word, Hugo sat on the edge of the bed and slowly lifted his legs up, panting with the effort and discomfort. Laying down he rested his head against James’s chest, letting his breathing return to normal.

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

James chuckled and sighed deeply. “Once upon a time there was a boy who lived with his parents in a big old house in Scotland…”

Wriggling a little, Hugo settled in, eyes closing despite his best efforts to remain awake, listening to James’ soft voice.

*************************

The following morning…

James poured himself a coffee, walking from the kitchen area to the sofa, powering up his laptop.

A few minutes later, yawning, his hair even more chaotic than usual, Hugo joined him, sitting at the far end of the couch. 

James looked up and resisted the urge to make a remark about Hugo’s appearance. “Morning.”

Hugo shifted nervously in his seat, looking everywhere but at James. “Um…look…about…last night…”

The doorbell made Hugo jump and James got up, heading for the bedroom in search of a t-shirt. “Get the door, would you?”

Hugo groaned and levered himself painfully upright, limping slowly to the door. He pressed the security camera and sighed. “Mycroft…it’s seven o’clock.”

“Are you going to let me in Hugo?” Mycroft asked impatiently.

James emerged from the bedroom straightening his t-shirt just as the door opened.

“Morning. Coffee?”

“Thank you, no. I’m having breakfast with…well, that’s not why I’m here.” Mycroft’s gaze swept the room and he was a little unsettled to see that one bed had clearly been used, the bedclothes spread haphazardly across its considerable width. The other, in what he knew to be the spare room, visible through the half-open door, remained neatly made. Given that Hugo had never made a bed unless nagged by his parents, Mycroft thought it unlikely anyone had spent any time in it the previous night.

*********************

MI6, later that day…

James scowled at the image of his shoulder, the bright white area indicating the long-healed previous injury and the jagged edges of the newest break in his collarbone, barely two inches between them.

Mallory sighed and smiled sympathetically. “Medical agree with the doctor who treated you for this latest injury, Bond. The risk of permanent nerve damage and loss of function in your hand and arm are just too great to allow you to…”

“I’m to collect my pension.” Bond interrupted harshly.

“If that’s what you want. There are positions here, training, bringing on the new recruits…”

James reached into his jacket pocket and brought out his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out his ID card and tossed it on the desk. “It seems you were right. It is a young man’s game.” He got to his feet and only just resisted the urge to slam the door behind him as he left the room.

Rubbing his temples, M pushed the intercom. “Moneypenny, tell Q I want to see him. Now.”

Frowning, Eve noticed the edge to his voice. “Yes Sir.”

*******************

Hugo stared at the image on the light box which was upright on the desk. The label on the top left edge of the x-ray removed any doubt as to whose it was: ‘Bond, James’ and, apparently, his date of birth, which surprised Hugo more than a little bit.

“So that’s it…he’s just…gone.”

“Yes. I understand you are still staying with…”

Hugo’s hand twitched reflexively and he knocked over a heap of files piled on M’s desk. “Sorry…sorry…um…I should go…”

M nodded understandingly. “Tanner will organize a car for you.”

Hugo picked up his crutches and struggled to the door, more than a little relieved when Tanner opened it for him. “Sir…car’s outside.”

“Thank you Tanner.” Hugo forced a smile and moved as quickly as he could from the room and the image of James’ ruined shoulder.

********************

Later that day…

The bottle of whiskey, three-quarters empty, was the first thing he saw when Hugo opened the door. “James?”

A hand lifted slowly from the couch and Hugo left his crutches by the front door and walked slowly towards the outstretched arm.

“You saw it?”

“Yes. Have you eaten anything?”

James laughed humorlessly. “Do you think a good meal will help?”

Hugo didn’t engage a clearly very drunk Bond in what he was certain would become an argument. Instead, he opened a tin of soup and heated it, adding a handful of herbs and a dollop of cream. Bringing the bowl and a slice of bread over to the couch, he put the tray on the table and looked down at James who was almost asleep. “Sit up and eat this.”

James frowned, wanting to argue but lacking the energy. Sighing, he ruffled his hair, sat with his head down for a moment then pulled the tray onto his lap. Hugo dropped onto the cushion next to him.

“I thought double-o’s had to retire at forty-five?” Hugo asked. It wasn’t exactly a surprise when the spoon in James’s hand smacked him on the back of his head. He made a pained sound and made a show of rubbing the back of his head, more to check if it was coated with soup than out of any real discomfort. 

“There are exceptions to every rule. You should know that.” James’ voice was soft and tired. 

Hugo reached across and laid his hand gently on James’ chest. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

James slid the tray off his lap and onto the table. Reaching around Hugo’s shoulder, he pulled him close. “I was scared of what your brothers would do to me if I didn’t.”

Hugo’s laughter at the thought of James being scared of anyone or anything vibrated in James’ chest. James yawned and sighed deeply. 

“Bed.” Hugo said, half-instruction, half-suggestion.

James pulled himself up, groaning as he wondered if he should just stay where he was. 

Standing, Hugo put out his hand. “I’ll try not to fall asleep until the end of the story this time.”

Trying not to sound too bitter, James said: “If you’re hoping for a happy ending, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“The story’s not ended yet.”

James decided if Hugo tried to pull him to his feet, they’d both end up in a pile on the couch. He levered himself up and both men headed, slowly and unsteadily, for the bedroom.

A few weeks later…

James got out and chivalrously opened the passenger door for Hugo. He waited, holding the door, until Hugo levered himself up and struggled out of the car, but made no move to help him. Neither did he do anything but remain within close proximity as Hugo made his way slowly up the driveway. He had become more steady on his feet in the previous weeks but he still needed a cane to help him balance on uneven ground.

Standing in the doorway, Mrs Holmes took a step towards her youngest son only to be held back by her husband in a rare moment of silent disagreement with his wife of almost fifty years. 

“Mummy…you remember James.” Hugo said, smiling with relief that he’d made the journey from car to house without needing the help he knew was just inches away.

“Oh, yes of course…come in…come in.” Mrs Holmes waved them both into the house and closed the door, more aware of the effort the short walk had needed than she let on. And equally aware of how Hugo’s friend had kept close enough to him, without making it obvious, that he could have provided assistance if Hugo had faltered.

***********************

Mycroft stood at the window and Sherlock knelt on the window seat. Hugo sat on the bed, his legs aching badly after the long climb upstairs to the front bedroom.

“Do you remember when Sherlock trained that cat to miaow on command?” Mycroft said, smiling. It hadn’t gone exactly as Sherlock had planned it. The cat had learned that Sherlock’s presence and voice meant a treat and, as a result, it stuck to Sherlock like a small furry shadow. After tripping over the cat more than once, Mummy hadn’t been as impressed as Sherlock had hoped.

“Do you remember when Mycroft was learning to drive and almost drove the instructor into the lake?” Sherlock countered sarcastically. The lesson had gone well until they returned to the house. The pigeons Sherlock was teaching to be hand-tame were startled when Mycroft ground the car’s gears and they took off in a flock of a dozen or more, flying across and in front of him as he pulled into the drive. His surprise had taken the form of pressing his foot on the accelerator rather than the brake, catapulting him, and his driving instructor, through a - thankfully open - gate and into the back garden of the house, perilously close to the deep lake. His father, and the driving instructor, hadn’t been happy. 

Leaning on the doorframe, just out of sight, James kept still and quiet.

“You do realize, we all live with older men. That must be genetic. I mean, three male children, all choosing the same type of…companion.” 

Sherlock’s musing tone made Hugo smile and Mycroft frown. “Sherlock…I hardly think this is a topic of conversation for a Sunday afternoon.”

“*Much* older in your case, of course, Mycroft. Happy Birthday, by the way.” Sherlock said, evidently trying to get a rise out of his brother.

“Oh, yes Sherlock, please thank John for the thought he put into *your* gift.” Mycroft responded equally sarcastically.

Both brothers turned and looked down at their younger sibling as he began to sniffle. Hugo looked up at them. “He feels guilty. He…James…all this…looking after me…because he thinks it’s his fault there was a stupid puddle…it wasn’t! It really wasn’t! And now I’m better, I’ll have to move out and…”

James moved into the room. “Is that what you think? Hugo?”

Hugo laughed nervously. “You usually call me Q-go. You forget where we are so you start with Q and then you…” 

Mycroft put his hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Mummy has made a lovely cake Sherlock.”

Sherlock frowned, not really understanding why he was being not-at-all discreetly pushed out of the room. 

*****************************

Their father came into the living room with a pile of plates and forks and frowned. “Where’s your brother?”

The sound of laughter came from upstairs and he leaned down to place the plates and forks on the coffee table. “Your mother thinks Hugo should think about a change of career.”

Mycroft reached for a plate. “I don’t think Hugo’s the one making a career change.” He had seen the x-ray and knew the implications of Bond’s second injury.

His father scowled at his eldest son’s comment and sighed. “That man…he’s…”

Hugo’s voice carried from the doorway. “Kind. Resourceful. A good cook.”

They heard the front door open and Hugo turned. “I’ll go and say goodbye to Mummy then we’re leaving.”

Mr Holmes looked from Mycroft to Sherlock and then, finally, Hugo. “Hugo, are you sure about this?”

Hugo winced as his leg twinged. A heartbeat later he felt a hand under his elbow and it took him a moment to respond: “Yes father.”

End


End file.
